Montage
by Ria
Summary: Harry knows that Severus is dying. It doesn’t help that every day gives him another hint that it’s slowly happening.


**Title:** Montage   
**Author:** Ria   
**Disclaimer:** It's not mine. Really, it isn't! I'm making no profit; it's all for fun.   
**Rating:** PG-13   
**Pairing:** Harry/Snape   
**Beta:** Vinagrette   
**Archive:** Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest   
**Challenge:** _80) Harry and Sev had a good life together, but now that they are getting old, Harry knows he'll have quite a few years to live without his husband._   
**Summary:** Harry knows that Severus is dying. It doesn't help that every day gives him another hint that it's slowly happening. 

**Montage**

**i – voice**

He doesn't talk as much anymore, not in the last few years. I don't know if it's because it hurts him to talk, or if he just can't be bothered, but I miss his voice. It isn't a particularly pleasant voice, but it's quiet, smooth and deep. Every time he opens his mouth, he causes shivers to run down my spine. That voice has whispered and teased me for more years than I can count; now it is endlessly silent. 

**ii – sky**

We're not as young as we used to be. I'm being honest about it – there are many things I took for granted that I can no longer do. I miss the swirl of the wind around me as I careered through the sky, my legs clamped tightly around my broom as my robes flapped against my calves. I miss the adrenaline rush as I dive haphazardly, filled with a daredevil feeling of invincibility. I more than miss it – I'm beginning to forget it. 

**iii – hands**

He still likes to cradle me against him when we lie down to rest, like he did years ago after sex. We were damp, shivering and satisfied, and he used to hold me and run his hands down my ribs and stomach, then drift up again, fingertips whispering against my quivering skin. He was content and so was I. When I look down now, his hands are nestled against my clothed stomach, pale and trembling ever so slightly. 

**iv – hair**

His hair is white now, but still thick enough and still faintly smelling of Potions and the dungeons. I run my hand through it and still find the dryness and crackle of static, thinning hair a shock. Snape without the greasiness – it's not right. But his eyes, still pitch-black and as endless as ever, capture mine: he's still sharp. His lips curve for the briefest of moments before he leans down and kisses me. I kiss him back, knowing that this uses strength he can't afford to spare. 

**v – thinking**

He was furious about giving up teaching, even though he wanted to throttle half his students daily. I know the reason why he protested so much – teaching gave him something to do. Without it, he has too much time on his hands. He has too much time to sit and think about the fact that he's slowly dying. He doesn't like doing that, surprisingly enough. When I find him staring out the window with a pensive expression stretching across his pale face, I know better than to interrupt. I watch him for a moment, before creeping softly away. 

**vi – quiet**

He was certain that when I decided to be with him, I'd be completely dissatisfied. He expected me to be constantly out with people my own age, drinking and generally doing the things I was supposed to be doing at that point of my life. But I didn't. Instead, the highlight of my day was when we curled up together before the fire, cradling glasses of wine. I rested my head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of Rosewood from his neck. There was only quiet except for the crackling of the fire and our breathing. And I adored it. 

**vii – sunrise**

I lean against the window frame as the sun creeps up from the horizon, the light strengthening as it climbs higher. I watch the surrounding countryside brighten and come to life, as if I can see every flower unfurl and strain upwards towards the brightness. In the distance, I can see sunshine sparkle off the river as if diamonds have been strewn over the rippling surface. I smile. 

He moves up so he's standing a little behind me. I turn towards him instinctively. He's painfully thin now, his ribs so prominent that they're almost the bars on a xylophone. My smile fades and I look up at him, knowing his sadness is mirrored in my own eyes. He wraps his arms around me and I burrow my face against his chest, grateful that I can still hear his heartbeat. 

**viii – books**

He is no academic; all his life he's had to study furiously to get where he is now. He's adept at Potions merely because he finds them fascinating, and so worked endlessly at them until he had his abilities perfected. But he reads because he loves books. He caresses their covers with gentle touches, turning each page with a care reserved for the most ancient texts. I watch him read, soothed by the silence broken only by page turning. He is, for the time being, content. Reading means little moving, save for his infrequent shifting in his seat, which means little pain for him. 

But lately I've noticed a frustration in his eyes as he scans each line quicker than usual, a tightening of his lips when something apparently doesn't add up. He's hardly going dumb or losing his mind yet, so for weeks I inwardly muse about what could be wrong. 

It's when I see him squint and hold a book closer to his face that I realise what's wrong. He's slowly losing his sight. Books will gradually lose pleasure for him, now that he has to struggle to enjoy them. 

**ix – tears**

He went to St Mungo's without me. I knew when his appointment was, of course, and when he said nothing about my accompanying him, I knew this was one he wanted to go to alone. 

I worried, of course, the entire time he was gone. I paced restlessly from one room to the next, ignoring the aching in my legs. I touched a painting here, oblivious to its occupant's indignant exclamation; I brushed a knickknack there, remembering how it was added to our collection. 

I eventually stumbled back into our room and found him curled up on our bed, weeping silently as he rocked back and forth. I watched him for a moment, then stole away. My tears were as quiet as his. 

**- Finis -**


End file.
